


The Shepard Is Lost

by Auda



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Anxiety, Character Death, Danger, M/M, Magic, No Dungeons & Dragons Knowledge Required, Original Player Characters, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Discovery, hidden identity, only posting on here to make it easier for my party members to read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auda/pseuds/Auda
Summary: 10 years before the current events unfolding in Neverspire, a Paladin of Nymmis leaves his home, never to return. However, the Goddess of the Hunt has different plans for the young man and sets him down a path that could lead to the sense of purpose he has always longed for. Lady Silva, a Sister of Nymmis, spends the last year of her life training the Paladin for what is to come and strikes a deal with the young man.  The only way for him to discover who he is, at his core, he must forget everything that once defined him. One thing that never occurred to Lady Silva, the possibility of her charge finding romance along the way.





	1. The Deal

It had been a long day of arguing with his family head and other political parties about the state of living in the city. Most talked over him, others ignored him completely, and his mother only told him to have faith. Mineaus was disgusted; how could they sit by and watch as families died of starvation and sickness when there was plenty of food and medical help for all? He remembered that when he was small, someone had broken into their home and then abandoned their child all for the sake of getting something they needed to survive.

His father was of little help in reassuring him that they would help the people of Airistair. Odae grumbled that the Sisters of Nymmis were making his son soft. However, instead of removing his son from The Goddess of The Hunt’s teachings, he threatened to send Mineaus back to the temple. Odae had no use for Mineaus in the political world. Of course, this was behind his son’s back just after the meeting. He overheard this as he was tidying up.

In the middle of the night, Mineaus filled his traveling pack with the essentials and told no one he was leaving. If he is lucky, he’ll find a reason never to come back.

It was the end of summer, the heat of the day still lingered into the night, and the city was bustling behind him as Mineaus began his first steps into the forest. His jaw was tight with anger, and his heart heavy with shame. He wished with all his being that he could be someone that his family was proud of while not having to cast aside his own beliefs to do so.  
He gave his soul to Nymmis because of his mother. Adrian longed to have a child that would carry on her work for the god. Odae wished to have a worthy heir to his household. So, Mineaus delved as deep as he could into his studies. Even though the two lives felt as if they would rip him apart, he loved it. He loved them.

A snap of a branch and the flapping of wings drew the man from his thoughts. A white owl flies through the branches of the trees; its feathers shine in the moonlight. Mineaus takes heed and remembers to pay attention to where he’s headed. He’ll have to make camp soon. Just a few more hours of walking, and he should be far enough away from the city proper that he won’t be on someone’s land; or easy to follow. He knows that traveling at night is foolish unless you’re a predator. The shadows become your enemies, and the silence is your betrayer. Mineaus, at nineteen years old, is stupid and is overconfident in his ability to protect himself. Walking along a small dirt road, Mineaus watches as the trees thicken, and the stars slowly become blocked from his vision. The night grows colder the deeper he goes into the forest, and yet the smell of wet soil eases the tension in his shoulders. Things are simple out here and quieter. No worries about family or politics; just survive, eat, sleep, procreate, and die.

“Ah yes, that old willow will do,” Mineaus convinces himself, just as he steps around its dangling branches. The leaves look fresh as the first day of spring, and when he steps through them, he feels safe.

The forest is quiet as he prepares himself for a rest at the base of the willow. Unable to light a fire for tonight, Mineaus only has a small bedroll to keep him off the wet ground. He presses his back against the willow tree and huddles under his thick winter cloak—an added layer for his comfort.

The silence thickens in an unsettling way. Mineaus muses to himself that it’s a test, to see if a human can blend back into nature or not. He would fail, he knows, too long has his family lived in luxury within the city. Even so, his time with the Temple of Nymmis has given him a small advantage in surviving in nature. He hadn’t cared much for hunting but saw how necessary it was to the survival of many lower-class citizens.

Then, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the sound of slow and determined footsteps heading his way. Mineaus holds his breath and tries to tuck himself further into the roots of the willow tree. Four footsteps, slowly following each other, walk past the tree. The darkness obscures the silhouette of a creature as it stops just past the truck of the tree.

Mineaus nearly chokes in realization as the creature’s head turns to look at him with empty eye sockets. The familiar skeletal deer steps towards the man and then looks down the path ahead again.

The paladin of Nymmis sighs in exasperation, “you want me to keep going, don’t you?”

Nymmis’ familiar turns back to Mineaus, stares at him and then turns to the path. The rattling of bones echoes as the deer walks. Resigning himself to a night with no rest, Mineaus stands, grabs his things, and follows. The night is long, and the moon slowly begins to settle for its slumber behind the mountains. They walk on.

Further and deeper, they go into the woods. Over inclines and down into valleys. Then around winding paths through the trees. Mineaus hears the sounds of night transform into those of the early morning. The birds waking before the sun starts turning the sky.

He’s about to complain bitterly to the skeletal deer when the sight of a cabin rewards his faith. The building has smoke rising steadily from its chimney. The door is wide open and casting light onto a collapsed figure with the skeletal deer standing over them. Mineaus rushes forward, checking to see if the person is wounded. When he reaches the prone figure, he discovers that they are an older woman, unharmed but running a fever.

Using all his strength, he lifts the woman off the ground and carries her into the cabin. By the time he passes over the threshold, his god’s familiar has vanished.

The cabin is modest, one room with a loft as the resting area. Mineaus slowly makes his way up the stairs and checks the bed for signs of moisture, mold, or other diseases, and finds none. Gently he lays the elderly woman onto the bed and goes about pulling his clean water from his pack. He wets a cloth and places it on her forehead after brushing wiry gray hair away.

In a flash of movement, the woman violently grabs the wrist and snarls at him. “Who are ye?!”

Mineaus winces, and her rough callus hands and jagged nails bite at his skin. “Ah! I…” he clears his throat around the pain as her grip tightens, “I’m here to help. I was lead here by Nymmis.”

The old woman spits to the side, “Ack, gods,” she rasps in disgust.

She lets go only as a painful coughing fit takes over her body. Mineaus does not move; instead, he offers her water. Which she takes gratefully, sipping and then gulping it down. Mineaus realizes that she must have passed out while trying to fetch clean water for herself. Solemnly, he slowly helps her lie back down on her bed.

“Thank ye,” she says in a hush. “But ye are a fool for listenin’ to her, child.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Mineaus is the first person to break it. He looks over his things and then slowly around the cabin before the woman taps his hand.

“Ye be runin’ from yerself, eh?”

It is then, he finally admits it to himself. The woman cackles herself shy of another coughing fit as he snaps his gaze angrily to meet hers. Yes, instead of facing his troubles, he ran away like a child.

“Yes.” He admits to her, looking away as it pains him to continue, “I ran away. I can’t be who they want me to be, so…”

“So who are ye then?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Well, since ye don't have a name, I might as well give ye one,” the old woman says matter of factly. Mineaus remains silent and sits at the end of the woman's bed. His shoulders hunch forward as his stomach turns. He should go. What good will it do to humor this woman any longer?

Mineaus wrinkles his nose; regardless, his expression only encourages her.

“Unless ye do know who ye truly are...doubtful or the Huntress would not have led ye here.” She rests her gray head back into her pillows and smiles at him with simple joy. “If ye wish to leave, then go before the sun rises fully. If ye wish to stay, there be a sofa by the hearth.”

With that, Mineaus stands in one swift motion and walks down the stairs to the front door. He opens the door, looks at the forest outside, and hesitates. Nymmis sent him here, either to help the old woman or himself. Possibly both. He has nowhere to go, besides deeper into the forest with no plan or direction. If he heads to a town or city, they will discover him. If he wanders into the woods, he’ll only become lost, or the Familiar will lead him back to this hut.

He shuts the door. Might as well stay. Besides, he notes the mess with the cabin; it looks like this woman could use a hand. Once the older adult is well enough to manage on her own, he’ll leave. He steps over to the sofa and feels the heavy ache in his limbs.

The young man settles himself on the sofa, dragging a hand over his clean-shaven face. The comfortable heat of the cabin eases the anxious tension in his muscles. He wonders what magic enchants this woman’s home, and then sleep takes him.

Putrid smoke, the smell of burning leather and cloth, awakes the paladin from his dreamless sleep. He panics, having expected to awake in his bedroom back home. Then the reality of his decisions settles in the pit of his stomach. There is the old woman he found the other night, crouching in front of the smoking fire. Cackling as if she--

“Wait?! That’s my travel bag!” Mineaus yells, scrambling to grab the poker from her overworked hands, “Those are my clothes!!”

His belongings crumble into ash as he tries to scrape them from the fire. The old woman howls in amusement as he too crumples in defeat.

“Yehehehe, now now,” she teases, “No need for those fineries out here. No ladies or lords to impress while peacockin’ about.”

“What are you...why am I?” His anger subsides into hazy confusion as the cabin spins around him. “I…do-don’t feel well.”

Firm hands grab his arms just below the shoulders and steady him. The old woman guides him back to the sofa and gently helps him lay back against a large pillow. His head throbs and his stomach turns if he closes his eyes for too long.

“Poor boy,” she says quietly just before placing a damp, warm rag on his forehead. “so unsure of yerself. Carryin’ all the world, and fer what? Fer, who do ye sacrifice?”

Tears are running from the corners of his eyes now. Slow, quiet, and steady. He’s never known the answer to that question. Who? His family was never pleased with his accomplishments. He has no friends, not true ones. Everyone he knows only wishes to gain something from his company. Be it power, clout, or desire.

He wearily looks at the old woman, “Who are you?”

She sighs and looks into the fire, “Are ye ready to forget who ye were, to become who ye truly are? If I tell ye my name, ye will have no memory of who ye were before ye dragged me over the threshold.”

Another wave of pain washes over him. Just as it subsides, he realizes that the magic centers around his heart, and with each beat, the names and faces of the people he’s come to know the past nineteen years are washing away.

“Yes,” he breathes and blindly puts faith in this woman and his choice to stay. “I need to know who I am.”

The crackle of the fire fills the now sweetly smelling air of the cabin. The warmth and comfort of a home he’s never known seeps into his skin. There is a gentle hand on him as more tears fall. The weight on his chest is relieved with each shaking breath. He covers his eyes with his free hand, trying to block out the empty memories of a life he never felt like he belonged in.

Only when he’s cried himself to exhaustion does the older woman speak again.

“I am Lady Silva. We have a lot of work to do.” He feels a soft blanket drape over him, and his eyes drop closed with relief. “Marrow, we shall start yer training. Rest, fer now, Robin.”


	2. Meeting

The morning is frigid as a flock of sheep roams a small valley. Frost clings to the grass, and leaves fall in rhythm with a passing breeze. All is quiet, except the jingle of bells as the flock moves around. Mineaus stands not too far away, watching with a steady gaze. He turns as he hears his mentor approaching. 

“Ah, they seem to be doin’ well.” Lady Silva greets. 

He chuckles, “Yes, though I think their wool helps.” Mineaus breathes into his hands to warm them, resting the quarterstaff Silva gave him against his left shoulder. “I was just recollecting the night we met.” 

“Yeh?” the elderly woman hands him a pair of wool mittens. 

He takes the mittens gratefully, “You cast a spell on me to make me sleep, or rather shut up. I thought you were going to erase my memories or kill me. Poor way to make a first impression, in my opinion.” 

Silva side-eyes the young man with a smirk on her wrinkled face. “Ye wouldn’t listen to reason. Nymmis sent ye to me because ye had lost yer way. Not my fault.” 

“Why did you take me in?” the young man asks.

She makes a noncommital noise and shrugs. “I just told ye. More importantly, why did ye stay? Out of pity, because I am old and dyin’? Or could it simply be that we are two ancient souls, lookin’ for some company before the tides change?” 

Mineaus takes a slow and steady breath and lets it billow out in a mist. It had been several months since he had come here. Her condition was worsening, hands stiff, and steps slow. Yes, Lady Silva was dying, but he did not pity her. He owed her for harboring him this long. If she hadn’t burned his belongings and made him sleep that day, they would have found him. More importantly, his grief and depression would have caused him to continue to spiral out of control. 

According to the older woman, a squire from one of the four noble families had come looking for him, and she had turned him away. She lied and said that he was her grandson, who had come to take care of her. Beyond the debt he owed? He was lonely and enjoyed her mischievous company. 

They watched the flock for a little longer, in companionable silence. Everything moved slower out here, and there were no pressures beyond those of day to day survival. 

The calm shatters with the sound of hooves crunching through fallen leaves approach them. Mineaus hears in his mind, “Don’t ye speak too much, Sol, or he will know ye for who ye truly are.” 

When he turns to look at who is coming their way, he sees a young man close to his age riding a chestnut horse. The rider wears simple leather armor, and the long winter coat does little to hide the build of one who trains in combat. The young man’s dark brown hair is pulled back under his hood to fend off the chill in the air. Were it not for the welcoming smile on his face, the man would seem intimidating. 

The rider waves with one hand and pulls at his horse’s reins to slow them to a stop. “Good morning, Lady Silva and…?” 

“‘Mornin’ to ye too, this is my grandson. Ye didn’t get a chance to meet the last time ye visited.” Mineaus nods once and averts his gaze. Silva nudges him with her cane. “Sorry, he doesn’t speak much. Don’t be rude now, introduce yerself.” 

With a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, he hesitates to speak. “Robin, Uh...it’s nice to meet you.” He looks away sharply and moves to pretend to encourage a sheep closer to the flock. 

Mineaus can hear the other man scoff and mumble what must have been his name under his breath. Silva chuckles and shakes her head. “So, what can we do ye for this cold day?” 

“I just wanted to let you two know that there have been wolf sightings in the area. Not a great sign, the winter must have come early in the north.” He grumbles, pulling his cloak closer. “If you need previsions to make it through the winter, the Monaghan’s and Haywoods will be--” 

Silva makes an indignant sound before spitting on the ground, “Thank ye, but no, we will be fine without yer lord’s handouts! Get ye gone, before ye insult me further.” 

Mineaus watches as the man gapes and fumbles over his words briefly before apologizing and turning his horse around to leave. He sympathizes with the rider as he watches him go before walking up to Silva’s side. 

“That was a bit harsh,” he places a hand on her shoulder and notices a slight tremor there. Her companion leans forward in concern and then sees the wide grin on her face. “What?” he deadpans. 

The old woman cackles, “Yehehehehe, twas the only way I could stop him from staring at ye like a fool!” 

He laughs with her, and they watch the rider disappear down the dirt road. She bids him a good day’s work and reminds him to bring the sheep in before noon. There are more lessons to be had this day. 

Routines were something that Mineaus had dreaded growing up—having each day mirror the next amplified the feeling of having his life planned out from the moment of his conception. He wonders if it would have all been more comfortable if his sister had survived, or would they have hated each other. Knowing his mother and father, the siblings would have to fight against each other for meager scraps of affection. Here, on this humble farm, the routines are out of necessity rather than luxury, and they were putting his mind at ease.

The sun will set early this day, the cold encouraging the leaves to change. Mineaus prepares the night’s meal for both of them. Silva had scolded him on how little he knew about preparing game by hand. The skinning of animals and cleaning of meat still made the noble man’s hands shake. Even so, all things become more manageable with repetition. 

Mineaus reflects on his training. The learning of spells, herbal medicine, and hunting was thrillingly difficult. However, his passion lies in tending the garden around the cabin. Starting a life from seed, nurturing the plant until it grows, and then allowing the life to end. Silva had described it as the most straightforward comparison to how Nymmis sees the balance of nature. 

In the garden where Mineaus sits in the evening, smoking a calming weed blend that Silva prescribed. He puffs on his pipe slowly, watching the small insects try to reach the flames within the hanging lantern by the door. 

The garden is where he meets the man from earlier this morning again. Though this time, he’s walking cautiously up to the front door as if trying to sneak in. Mineaus smiles around his pipe and watches from his secluded spot under a peach tree. The rider holds a large basket in his hands, laden with what looks like blankets and provisions. 

Finding no threat in the other man, Mineaus taps out his pipe and stands. The young paladin strolls over to the rider. 

“Can I help you?” Mineaus calls. 

The stronger looking man startles and then laughs with embarrassment. “Oh, you caught me. Robin, was it?” 

In the dim lantern light, Mineaus takes in the man’s features. Rough around the edges, but put together with purpose. His smile is striking, almost performative, and yet merely natural. 

“I um...yes.” Mineaus answers, almost forgetting himself. He shouldn’t be talking with this squire. 

“Aaargh, hurry up, Alastair! I’m freezing my toes off out here!” Mineaus sharply turns to find the voice and sees a young girl holding two horses by the front gate. 

The man sighs. “Sammy, manners. We’re guests right now.” 

She rolls her eyes and makes a disgruntled face at her companion before sighing and kicking at the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Sweet dumb bois. Sammy, you're going to have to put up with so much...I'm so sorry. Also, had to put in the canon of people always interrupting their little moments.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic gives me so many worries and that's half the reason why I'm sharing it.


End file.
